


Worship

by RaeDMagdon



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Body Worship, Canon Universe, F/F, Fingering, Fluffy, Love, Oral, SMUTCATION, Sweet, Tender - Freeform, Vanilla, lexa alive, romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 16:48:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16391450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaeDMagdon/pseuds/RaeDMagdon
Summary: Lexa has beheld many beautiful sights in her lifetime. She has watched the trees turn red and orange in autumn. She has watched golden sunlight dance atop the ocean at midday. She has looked up at the night sky and wondered at the stars, at the sheer vastness of it all – more often since Skaikru’s arrival.None of those sights can compare to the beauty spread before her.





	Worship

**Author's Note:**

> More SMUTCATION.
> 
> The prompt was: "I don't know if this is something you'd be willing to write, but... I've been feeling insecure about my body (weight) lately. Would you be willing to write some Clexa where Lexa really appreciates Clarke's body, curves and all?"
> 
> Please follow me on tumblr @raedmagdon for more.

Lexa has beheld many beautiful sights in her lifetime. She has watched the trees turn red and orange in autumn. She has watched golden sunlight dance atop the ocean at midday. She has looked up at the night sky and wondered at the stars, at the sheer vastness of it all – more often since _Skaikru’s_ arrival.

None of those sights can compare to the beauty spread before her.

Clarke’s bare skin looks tawny by lamplight, with dips of purple shadow painted across: in the hollow of her throat, beneath her heavy breasts, at the generous curve of her thighs. Those same thighs shimmer with trails of wetness, and Lexa still can’t quite believe she has permission to touch something so beautiful. That she is the _cause_ of something so beautiful.

The first time Lexa had seen Clarke without her clothes, she’d wept. She doesn’t cry anymore. (Perhaps that had to do with the fear that their first time making love might be their last.) But sometimes, her hands still tremble when she touches Clarke, just like they did then.

It’s embarrassing. She feels silly, staring at Clarke’s bare body as though it’s a work of art, struck dumb by something she has seen countless times before. But Clarke never seems to mind. She doesn’t mind now, as she caresses Lexa’s cheek with a tender palm.

“You’re beautiful,” Clarke murmurs. Obvious words, but ones Lexa struggles to say herself, simply because forming _any_ kind of worthy speech seems impossible where Clarke is concerned. When her words desert her like this, there is only one thing to do. She coils an arm around Clarke’s waist, tipping her back onto the bed.

As she stretches over Clarke’s body, Lexa gives herself the gift of time. There is no reason to rush this re-learning. She can caress Clarke’s shoulders, trace old scars, and cherish every curve for as long as she wants – or, at least, for as long as Clarke will let her.

And there are a _lot_ of curves. Lexa fills her hands with Clarke’s breasts, gently at first, only squeezing firmly when Clarke’s moans urge her to apply more pressure. Clarke’s nipples are thick and pink, the perfect size for pulling into her mouth. She does so, swirling her tongue over and around, enjoying the way Clarke pants beneath her.

Then there is Clarke’s stomach. Smooth, warm, somewhat rounded, it’s perfect for running her hands over. The extra padding Clarke has is a benefit, as far as Lexa is concerned. It makes her feel so soft, so yielding to every touch, exactly the opposite of her personality. Lexa wouldn’t have her any other way.

Clarke’s hips are just as wonderful. Wide, blossoming, they are exactly the right size for Lexa to hold. Her fingers leave indents when she presses in, still gently – and Clarke _likes_ when she presses in, because she whines and tilts her pelvis, searching for some kind of contact.

Lexa slides her knee between Clarke’s open thighs. Clarke’s legs are bewitching, with a surprising amount of muscle hidden beneath the plush coating of flesh. They feel so good curled around her waist, or kneeling on either side of her face.

This time, though, Lexa presses up with her thigh. Clarke bucks against her offering, covering her skin in a warm stripe of wetness. She’s more than ready, but Lexa isn’t. Clarke’s beauty has her feeling all fuzzy, and it’s difficult to concentrate, to pick one spot to focus her attention.

Her hands wander here and there, stroking and squeezing, brushing and teasing. _Worshipping._ She would wrap Clarke’s whole body within hers if she could, to keep forever. Sometimes, the fact that they can’t share a skin is maddening. Cuddling underneath the bedfurs is lovely, but it only goes so far to sate her longing.

“Lexa,” Clarke says, in a husky voice tells Lexa she’s losing patience. “Touch me.” She rocks her hips again, smearing more wetness above Lexa’s knee.

For Clarke, Lexa will do anything, even pick up her luxurious pace. She draws Clarke’s other, neglected nipple into her mouth and slides her hands down to her lover’s rear, groping both cheeks. They’re so round, so pliant, and they overflow her palms. She sighs with happiness around the stiffened peak in her mouth, kneading to her heart’s content.

Clarke begins a slow grind against her leg, one which Lexa aids to the best of her ability. Each low, shuddering breath Clarke takes is a promise of pleasures to come, and never has Lexa heard a more beautiful noise… except, perhaps, when Clarke screams her name.

It’s in hopes of hearing that sound that Lexa removes one of her hands from Clarke’s backside — only one, because she can’t bear to detach the other — and cups it between her legs. Using her thigh for leverage, she slips her middle finger inside, knowing Clarke is more than ready.

Clarke tenses. Gasps. Quivers. Her walls clamp down, and Lexa curls her finger forward, probing at the puffy spot that always causes Clarke’s undoing. When Clarke moans, _“More,”_ she adds her fourth finger as well, using both of them to apply pressure with the help of her knee. Clarke’s clit twitches against the heel of her hand, a clear sign of encouragement.

Although Lexa is sure Clarke would love nothing more than to be fucked, she keeps her thrusts slow. During her movements, she doesn’t pull her fingers all the way out. Instead, she stirs, probes, reaching as deep inside of Clarke as she can. Being inside her lover this way is the closest she’ll get to heaven on earth, and she doesn’t want to rush.

 _“Lexa,”_ Clarke cries, louder this time. She’s close, Lexa can tell.

Although she toys with the idea of making Clarke suffer — even knowing Clarke will have her revenge later — Lexa’s heart is too soft for that. She wants to make Clarke feel wonderful, and she will do anything to please the woman she loves so dearly. Besides, she can always keep going after Clarke comes. One release doesn’t need to be the end.

Slowly, Lexa kisses her way down Clarke’s belly, nuzzling its curve and dragging her tongue around Clarke’s navel. Clarke hisses and swears, but Lexa doesn’t pay attention. She’s more concerned with Clarke’s inner walls, which have started fluttering in preparation.

At last, she arrives between Clarke’s thighs. She takes a moment to admire the way her fingers stretch Clarke’s entrance, and uses the considerable wetness spilling out to add a third, relishing the way Clarke’s hips rise off the bed as she does. Then, carefully, sweetly, she takes the beautiful ruby of Clarke’s clit into her mouth.

Clarke comes right away. Her limbs lock up, and she yelps something like Lexa’s name as her muscles pulse with release. The contractions force more wetness into Lexa’s waiting palm, and a great deal runs down her chin. She catches what she can during short breaks from tending to Clarke’s clit, savoring the taste of her lover’s pleasure.

As a compromise for making Clarke come sooner than she would have preferred, Lexa makes her orgasm a long one. She continues the motion of her hand and mouth until Clarke pushes at the top of her head, pleading for a break. “You’ll kill me,” she rasps, her wide grin sapping the warning of all seriousness.

Lexa runs her tongue over her lips. She rests her cheek on the pillow of Clarke’s sticky thigh, keeping her fingers where they are without moving them. In another minute, she knows, Clarke’s hips will start rocking once more. Clarke’s walls, which are fluttering weakly with aftershocks, will squeeze her fingers again, trying to coax them into movement.

For now, Lexa is content to bask in the glow of Clarke’s release. To bathe in her taste and smell. To glory in the sight of her shaking, sweat-soaked body, breasts rising and falling with each joyful breath. The privilege of witnessing such things makes Lexa’s heart swell beyond the confines of her chest.

Sometimes, she doesn’t think her body is big enough to hold her love for Clarke. Maybe that’s why she’s always so desperate to pour as much of it back into the woman she adores — because she simply can’t contain her feelings, in spite of all her training. That’s only a temporary solution, of course. Clarke always returns her love to excess, and that makes Lexa all the more devoted to her.

“You’re beautiful,” she says, now that she can. Now that some of her worshipful desire has been sated.

Clarke’s hand strokes her hair away from her forehead. “Thanks. Now kiss me?”

Lexa is all too happy to crawl back up Clarke’s body and comply.


End file.
